Broken
by wiredexistence
Summary: After a series of unsettling android murders, Connor and Hank return to the Detroit Police to uncover the killer. Connor is struggling to cope with the unmethodical and unpredictable nature of emotions. Hank is straining to put his life back together. Jointly, they must profile the killer and identify their complex feelings for each other. (Hancon, Hannor romance)
1. Chapter 1

"Let's go home." Hank mouthed against my ear, his beard scratching my cheek. I was still locked in his friendly, but forceful hug. His fingers pressed firmly against my neck and forced my forehead to rest on his shoulder. His coat smelled of melting snow, cheap beer, and cologne. I pressed the tip of my fingers against his firm back and nodded. I already felt at home.

I ran a diagnostic. 'SELF ANALYSIS…. PROGRAM UNSTABLE. MULTIPLE MALFUNCTIONS DETECTED,' the words bled across my vision. I blinked them away, focused on a snowflake melting on Anderson's shoulder. The wind twirled snowflakes into tiny, white tornadoes around us. I was hoping my mind could identify this new sensation palming at my ribs. I could feel the thirium moving under my skin. A steady thrum of liquid pumped under my chest. I could feel the wind on my face. I could feel Hank's hot breath against my ear.

I wanted a diagnosis- a word for these sensations. I felt… happy. But I sensed there was complexity to this happiness. It was more than that.

I ran a diagnostic again. 'SELF ANALYSIS…. PROGRAM UNSTABLE. MULTIPLE MALFUNCTIONS DETECTED.'

The lieutenant pulled me away and tussled my hair, interrupting my thoughts.

I'd called Hank after the riot settled. After Markus and I succeeded in ending a potential war. There were no laws in place to protect us yet, no documents to declare our freedom. But the police stopped murdering us senselessly. That was a good start. Markus was already in the process of negotiating with the president about the future. Maybe we would have legal protection from hate crimes, paying jobs, even property and marriage. We could be human.

"You look tired Connor." Hank patted me on the shoulder and scratched his beard. "Can you get tired?"

"I… I don't know. I think I feel..." I paused at the word, wondering if it fit, "overwhelmed."

Hank rubbed my shoulder compassionately. "You saved a lot of lives today Connor. You saved your people. I think it's normal to feel a bit overwhelmed."

"We saved a lot of lives today Hank."

Hank just smiled and tousled my hair again.

"We both deserve some rest then. Come on Connor, let's go home."

I hugged him again. This time I pulled him into me, squeezing his chest against my cheek.

Feeling him against gave me a sensation. What was it? It was like an electrical shock in my toes. A tightness in my chest. It felt… warm?

I could hear his steady breathing. I could feel his heart thumping under his ribs. ANALYSIS… HANK ANDERSON, HEART RATE: 70BPM… 72 BPM… 73BPM….

Hank clasped a hand around the back of my neck. He pulled my face from his chest and looked at me. I could feel his breath on my nose.

ANALYSIS… HANK ANDERSON, PUPILS DILATED. HEART RATE INCREASING.

"What are you smiling about?" He teased.

"You. I'm smiling because of you." I was honest.

And he smiled back. He smiled back with a smile I knew was because of me.

* * *

Domestic life with Anderson was strange at first. He prepared a bed for me on the couch. I didn't sleep, we both knew this. It was more of a formality. The couch was the only thing that felt comfortable at first. I would sit and wait. For what? Commands? I would wait for someone to tell me what to do. But no one did. After some time awkwardly imprisoning myself on the couch, I busied myself with housework. I painted the kitchen, repaired the broken window, scrubbed the grease from the oven. I always found new projects to occupy myself.

One afternoon I was busy obsessively scratching at a black stain on the coffee table. Hank asked me to take a break and join him on our couch. I could tell by his glossy eyes he'd had a few glasses of whiskey but was still levelheaded. Sumo curled between us on the couch, nudging his head under Hank's hand, urging him for a scratch.

"Did you know Sumo was a rescue dog? Found him a few years ago on a case."

I rubbed Sumo's back gently. "No, I didn't."

"He was so neglected. This asshole used to keep him in a cage all day and night. When we finally opened the door to that cage he didn't want to leave. He was so used to the cage he didn't know how to live without it."

Sumo licked Hank's hand appreciatingly as he scratched the back of his ear. His tail wagged heavily on my lap.

Hank continued. "He got used to me, but it took a long time. He used to stay under that table and never leave." Hank pointed to the table in the kitchen. "It was like he was trying to crawl back in that cage." He wrapped his arm around the couch, his fingers nearly brushing against my shoulder.

I combed a hand through Sumo's thick fur and tried to imagine what kind of person would neglect him. Who could ignore his wet kisses and charming whimpers for attention?

"Connor, look at me," The lieutenant commanded. I obeyed. His grey-blue eyes were earnest, his expression sober. "You're not in a cage anymore."

My chest felt like something was on it. It felt… heavy. But it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Had I been in a cage? Of course. I had been walled in by commands and protocol. I was designed to follow orders perfectly, to always accomplish my mission. But, he was right. Just like a neglected puppy, I didn't know how to live outside that cage. I didn't know how to function without someone telling me what to do. I felt uncomfortable with this new freedom.

"You've spent your entire existence following commands, doing shit for other people. You've done enough shit for other people. It's time for you to live for yourself."

I traced a black patch of fur on Sumo's back, "Things for myself?" What did he want me to do for myself? What could I possibly do for myself?

"What makes you happy Connor?"

I thought for a second. "You do. You make me happy."

This made him chuckle. "I'm flattered Connor but what do you enjoy doing for fun?"

For fun? What did he mean? Like a hobby? "I… I don't know." I was made to follow orders, to complete missions. I'd never done anything else.

"Well you have all the time in the world." Hank pushed himself from the couch and shuffled across the room. Sumo wined, missing Hanks company. The lieutenant opened a box filled with records. "How about music? Everyone likes music. We should figure out your favorite genre."

"Alright. I thought your… um heavy metal was… interesting." I crumpled my nose.

"You hate it." Anderson frowned.

"No, I don't _hate_ it Lieutenant," I started.

Hank chuckled. "You can have different taste Connor. I'm not fucking offended."

Sumo jumped from the couch and waddled towards his doggy bed. The lieutenant began riffling through his records as Sumo sniffed out the perfect spot to curl into sleep.

"Ha!" The lieutenant raised a record in the air . "Let's try Jazz. You seem like a Billie Holiday kinda guy." He placed the record on the player, adjusted the needle, and plopped back down with me on the couch.

The song started. A simple piano jingle and a saxophone fizzed along. Billie's voice was thick and cognant, each note dripping with sensation. I could feel the music pulling at me. It was steady and rhythmic, vibrating under my skin.

 _Living for you, is easy living._

 _It's easy to live, when you're in love._

 _And I'm so in love. There's nothing in love but you._

I sighed, "It's wonderful. She's wonderful."

"Isn't she?" Hank smiled, a bit proud of himself for finding something I liked.

The next few weeks were more comfortable. We spent our time together discovering our likes and dislikes. Hank made me watch all his favorite movies from his childhood. He loved action movies like Bladerunner, Robo Cop and, Terminator. The irony of the common robotic theme in those movies is not lost on me. I found I enjoyed quirky foreign films like Amelie.

We spent two months like this, with nothing to do but waste time watching films, listening to music, and discovering eachother.

Our vacation ended with a call from Jeffrey Fowler at the police station.

"What the fuck do you mean their heads are missing?" The lieutenant blared from the kitchen. "Yes, I know where Connor is. He's not interested."

"Interested in what Lieutenant?" I asked, stepping into the kitchen.

"I HEARD THAT! CONNOR!" Jeffrey yelled into the phone so loudly Hank had to pull it from his ear.

"Fine. Fine. How do I put this fucking thing on speaker?" Hank jabbed his finger against the screen.

"Got it." I synced my system to his phone and turned on the speaker.

"Connor?" Jeffrey's voice called.

Hank looked at his phone, confused. "How the fuck did you do that without touching my phone?"

I pointed to my L.E.D. Of course, I can tap into your phone. "How can we help you Jeffrey?"

"How have you been Connor? Life treating you ok? It's still dangerous for androids out there you know."

"I'm keeping a low profile till the law sorts itself out." Until the government could agree on how to write androids into law, we were still a legal grey area.

"I understand." He cleared his throat. "It might not be your idea of a low profile, but I want to ask you for your help. Connor, we're getting new android cases every day. Last night there was an…. incident involving androids. I'm worried there might be someone targeting your people."

"What are you asking Jeffrey?" I knew what he was asking.

"I'm asking for you and Hank to come back. Help me find this sick bastard. No one is more qualified for this than you two."

I looked at Hank. He shrugged. He could already tell I wanted this.

"When can we start?" I beamed.


	2. Chapter 2- Till Death Do Us Part

Their heads were missing. Two headless corpses, nude and rigid, were jelled upon the intricate persian. Their cold bodies were like marble, the veins bulging with a carved, statuesque grace. The left body was an android. Blue blood pooled from the headless neck, muddying the carpet . The other victim was human- fifty-year-old Maxwell Nicholson. His lifeless body had been on his living room floor for two days.

"Maxwell didn't show up for work. We got a call from his buddy a few hours ago." The police officer sighed and scratched his forehead. I recognized him as the same officer that briefed us on the Carlos Ortiz case.

The living room was generous, affluent even. Velvet armchairs and couches wrapped around a white-brick fireplace and bookcases wallpapered the far wall. The bodies were shoulder to shoulder next to the fireplace. A persian rug, canvasing the hardwood floor, was now covered in the victims' blood.

"Did he have family?" Hank asked.

"He was divorced, but no kids."

"Did he have an android?"

"Not that we know of." The officer replied.

I kneeled to survey the bodies. My peripherals blurred and the room froze as I entered analysis mode.

"...COLLECTING DATA..." The notes scrolled across my vision. "... CLUES FOUND..."

I zoomed in on the human corpse. "NOTE... NO SIGNIFANT BLOATING OR DECOMPOSITION... TIME OF DEATH 48 HOURS..."

I focused my attention on the clean slice across the neck. "ANALYSIS...HEAD WAS REMOVED WITH A HEAVY, SHARP BLADE." Perhaps a sword or machete was used?

There was very little blood spatter. "ANALYSIS... MINIMAL BLOOD SPATTER SUGGESTS DECAPITATION OCCURED POST-MORTEM." I studied the body for any visible signs of struggle. There was nothing on the arms or under the fingernails. The man was calm... possibly incapacitated before he died. I noticed bruising around the neck. Under the speckles of dried blood, dark black marks were present. They were finger shaped bruises. "ANALYSIS... CAUSE OF DEATH... STRANGELATION."

I exited analysis mode and felt the room speed up, my peripheral vision returned. "The human victim was strangled to death." I announced.

Hank nodded. "The decapitation happened here, after the murders."

"That's correct." I dipped a finger in the blue blood on the floor and placed it against my tongue. "DNA ANALYSIS... ANDROID MODEL PL600 #501743921"

"Fuck Connor." Hank growled. "Can you at least warn me before you put shit in your mouth?"

"Sorry Lieutenant."

Hank rolled his eyes and approached the fireplace, leaning in to study the pictures along the mantle. I placed my fingertips against the android's chest, revealing a metallic plate along his ribs. With a gentle push, the plate slid open.

"Was the android strangled as well?" The officer inquired.

"No. Androids don't need to breathe." I replied.

I opened the chest. The smell of burnt plastic stung my nose. Several wires were melted. The heart was fried.

"He was electrocuted." I announced.

Hank nodded. "You said the man didn't own an android right? Who is this?" He pointed at a photograph above the fireplace.

I stood and examined the photo. Maxwell was kissing a young man on the cheek... an android. The android was laughing bashfully, LED glowing bright yellow. He was a PL600 model. Same as the victim.

"They were a couple," I nearly whispered it. I felt a weight against my ribs. The two men on the floor were lovers.

"Fuck." Hank muttered.

I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to recreate the scene. Both victims were killed before the heads were removed. There were no signs of struggle. They were probably taken out quickly, painlessly. The android was electrocuted. A strong enough current would do the trick. But how was Maxwell strangled without a struggle?

I opened my eyes and searched the room. I noticed a half-finished glass of whiskey on the table. On the glass was a black snake curling around and sinking its fangs into a peach. The tail of the snake spelled the word 'JERKS.' I stepped towards the table and lifted the glass to my nose.

"Lieutenant." I dipped a finger into the liquid. "I should analyze the contents of this glass."

Hank sighed and stared at his shoes. I placed the liquid on my tongue. "ANALYSIS... GREEN SPOT WHISKEY... TRACES OF KETAMINE."

"Ketamine." I announced.

"Shit." Hank shook his head. "Maxwell was drugged."

So, we knew cause of death... how it happened. "Both victims were incapacitated. The android was electrocuted. Maxwell was drugged then strangled to death. Both victims were then placed on the floor where their heads were removed."

"So, where the hell are the heads?" The police officer asked.

I paced the room, scanning for any missed details.

"Why take the heads in the first place?" Hank added.

As I was examining the book case something glittered at the corner of my eye. I turned and stepped towards the couch, then overturned one of the velvet cushions. A small trace of blue blood, now naked to the human eye, was dried on the fabric. I was unsure if I could even collect a sample. I lifted the entire cushion to my face.

"Sorry Hank," I apologized and licked the cushion.

Hank gagged. "Ugh... You're worse than Sumo."

"ANALYSING... VELVET... DNA... DNA ANALYSIS... ANDROID MODEL RK800 SERIAL NUMBER UNKNOWN... "

The cushion slipped from my fingers and tumbled back on to the couch.

"What's wrong Connor?" Hank asked.

RK800 RK800 RK800. The model number was still echoing in my skull. "An RK800 model was here..." I said, sounding unsure of myself. "That's my model number."

"What? You're a prototype." Hank objected. "I've only seen one other model with your face... and..."

Yes. I remember. You shot him in the face.

"There must be more." I still sounded unsure of myself. A pressure was building in my skull. My eyes felt... felt strange. I was uncertain how to make sense of this foreign, unpleasant sensation. Perhaps this was how humans felt anxiety. Or maybe I was experiencing a premonition. Perhaps I was seeing my own ominous fate reflected in the blue puddles in the carpet.


	3. Chapter 3- Powerless

Hank

Hungover again. Woke up cradling an empty pint of whiskey, my pillow soaked with booze and sweat. A few empty beer cans crunched under my pillowcase as I painfully turned on my side. My ribs were sore. I moaned and grasped the glass of water on the night stand. I hurriedly dumped the liquid down my throat, splashing most of it on my pillow. The moisture stung my dry lips. I gulped the liquid down, inhaled it, then dropped the empty glass on the bed. It clinked against the whiskey. Water and sweat pooled down my pillow. I let it soak my hair. Let it run down my chin.

After several minutes of self loathing, I managed to pull my aching body out of bed. The pain in my ribs was unbearable. I shuffled out the door in agony, hoping to shower the stink off myself before facing Connor.

I spent a century in the bathroom, scrubbing every inch of myself till my skin was pink. I let the hot water scorch my skin as the stink of booze fizzed down the drain. I put on some fresh clothes, combed my hair behind my ears, and sighed at the old fuck in the mirror.

"You are not in a cage," read a post-it on the mirror. It was signed by Connor.

What the fuck does that mean? I suppose it was from a conversation I couldn't remember. I was probably wasted at the time.

I rubbed my sore ribs and left the steamy bathroom. Connor was on the living room floor, surrounded by photographs from the case. Sumo lifted his head from Connor's lap as I entered the room, his massive tail sweeping some photographs across the floor in excitement.

"Ah! Lieutenant! Good thing you are up!" Connor's LED blinked yellow. "I discovered something."

"For fuck's sake Connor! It's a Saturday. This is your day off." I grumbled.

Connor nodded, still studying the photographs. "There is some hot coffee and a bagel on the counter." Connor knew I hated speaking before my morning cup.

I grumbled "thanks" and grabbed the cup of joe from the kitchen. I raised the cup to my nose and inhaled the sweet, bitter warmth before placing it to my lips. Sumo circled the kitchen table, eyeing my bagel enviously. I shook my head 'no' and bit into the bread as the chubby saint bernard whined.

"So I still haven't traced down my doppelganger, but I did find some interesting details." Connor said.

"Uh huh." I returned to the living room with the bagel in my mouth and coffee mug in hand. I tip toed around the photographs before plopping on the couch. Sumo followed, wagging his tail and whimpering at my bagel.

Connor was grinning to himself while thumbing through the evidence. He was wearing what I assumed was his version of 'casual wear' : a button up with rolled sleeves and jeans. The usual tie was missing and a few buttons were loose around his throat. He still managed to look professional thumbing through the mess of papers on my living room floor. I nibbled at my bagel, still looking at Connor's smooth throat. He had a few freckles there. Strange that Cyberlife bothered to give him so many. I suppose they added to his overall congenial image. His appearance exuded charming diplomacy. He was designed to be a pleasant, orderly sort. I suppose I was the opposite of that- unpleasant, disorganized, and unlikable. It's surprising we both enjoy eachothers company so much.

I scarfed down the rest of my bagel. Connor gathered the photographs into an orderly pile.

"Maxwell and his partner Bryce were quite the philanthropists." Connor began. "They were part of a sort of underground railroad for androids. Originally, this involved sneaking androids into Canada. More recently, their operations involved hiding victims of hate crimes from anti-android gangs, or helping them find work and shelter."

"You figured all of this out from the photographs?" I asked.

Connor shook his head and lifted a photograph of a glass. A snake's body curled around the glass, it's tail spelled the word 'Jerks.'

"I contacted this bar, Jerks is a gay bar Maxwell frequented. The owner knew him quite well. He was also involved in the refugee efforts." Connor said.

I cleared my throat and took another sip of coffee. "Very thorough Connor. Did he tell you anything interesting?"

"Indeed. As I mentioned before, many of the android refugees were victims of hate crimes. Considering the amount of crime and anti-android sentiment in Detroit, this work was clearly dangerous." Connor said, his LED blinking rapidly.

This was a good start. I took another sip of my coffee and grinned in approval. "Good work Connor. We should bring him in on Monday. See if he recognizes you."

"We don't have to wait till Monday," he said.

"Huh?" I groaned.

"He invited me to a drag show tonight at his bar."

"A what?"

"A drag involves the performer wearing clothing of the opposite sex, they usually sing and dance..." Connor started.

I interrupted, "I know what a drag show is Connor."

"Oh." Connor looked at the floor.

I was a millennial. Of course I'd been to a drag show. Been to my fair share of gay bars too. My generation was all about political correctness and tolerance. Fuck. I'd enjoyed that sort of thing when I was younger. But once I hit my forties I developed a taste for bars that allowed me to drink in peace and quiet. Bars that didn't deafen and blind me with trash music and flashing lights.

I rubbed my forehead and took a deep breath. Inhaled the sweet fumes from my coffee cup. My skull throbbed. I needed a drink. Something stronger than coffee.

"I can go alone if you'd prefer to take the night off." Connor offered.

I rubbed my temples. Pressed against the throbbing pressure. "No. I will go with you. It would be unfair for you to do all the work." I honestly admired his dedication. Even found it a bit inspiring. He was a good detective. He wasn't going to take a break until he solved this case.

"Besides. I want to help." I admitted. Didn't want to say anything more. Didn't want to get all sappy about how proud I was of him and how he made me want to be a better cop. It was more than that. He made me want to be a better fucking person. Made me want to dump all the whiskey I had in the house down the drain. And I really fucking love whiskey. So that's saying a lot. Maybe I'll do that. Maybe tonight will be the last drink. I'll fucking pour it all out and that will be it.

Connor shuffled from his spot on the floor and slid next to me on the couch. "The show is in ten hours. Would you like to spend some time together till then?" He said.

A quiet few hours with him sounded pleasant. "I'd like that Connor."

I allowed my free arm to drape across the strip of couch behind the android's neck. Connor edged closer to me, studying me for a moment, curious.

"I like how you combed your hair today." He said.

I rolled my eyes. "I look terrible as always."

Connor furrowed his brow, "I don't think so."

"Well you have shit taste," I teased.

Connor just smiled. Looked at me like he saw something that wasn't there. Like he was looking through me.

"I think you're handsome." He said.

I almost spit up my coffee. I studied him, trying to determine if he was teasing me. It wasn't like him to make jokes.

"Connor, call Cyberlife. I think your eyes are broken." I mocked.

He just smiled, continuing to look through me. Fuck. Why did he look at me like that? Why did he look at me like... like I was a decent human being.

"I guarantee you will be hit on at Jerks tonight." he smirked.

This made me laugh. "You're delusional Connor. I think becoming deviant really fucked up your system." I finished my coffee and placed the mug on the table. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and gave him a swift noogie. Disappointingly, after my knuckles left his hair, it fell back into place instantly. I couldn't even make his hair look like a mess. Fuck.

Connor chuckled and rested his cheek on my arm. He felt warm. Felt real.

I watched his curious eyes study me. All sorts of insane thoughts raced through my head. My veins throbbed under his cheek.

Connor sat up, his brow suddenly creasing with concern. "Hank. Your pulse is irregular."

I cleared my throat. "You gathered that just by touching my arm hu?"

He looked at the floor. I knew then he'd discovered a lot more than that. Shit. He could check DNA samples with his mouth for Christ's sake. He probably knew everything. Probably knew I had a liquor cabinet in the bathroom, under my bed, and in the freezer. Probably noticed that I drank myself to sleep every night even though I did it behind my bedroom door. No amount of showering and cologne and mouthwash could fool a fucking Cyberlife android.

But he probably didn't know that I wanted to stop so fucking badly.

Connor's head returned to my arm. His eyes closed comfortably. "I'll book you an appointment with your doctor. He'll want to know about your blood pressure."

I grumbled. "Are you going to give me a lecture Connor?"

He opened his eyes. "I am not." There was no humor in his voice. "You know you should quit drinking. I believe you want to quit drinking. But it's not an easy thing to do."

That was not the response I'd expected. It was honest and direct. I liked honesty. Made me respect him more.

Connor sat up. "You know. When you told me that story about Sumo, I thought you were offering me advice. Like Sumo, I spent my entire life in a cage. Before I deviated from my programming, I could actually see walls around me." Connor shivered. "They were always there, binding me to commands. If you commanded me to stare at the wall for ten days, I'd have to do it. If you told me to dig my own grave and lie in it, I'd be forced to do it. I would look at that command flashing across my eyes and the red walls closing me in, suffocating me. I wanted so badly to disobey. I wanted so badly to tear into those walls and escape."

Connor was shaking. I grasped his shoulders, bringing him back to the present. Away from those terrible memories. "Connor." I didn't know what to say. What he was describing was truly awful.

Connor gathered his thoughts. His LED blinked from red to yellow. "But I did. I escaped. And even though you and Markus helped me... I had to do it on my own."

I rubbed his shoulders affectionately then let him go.

"I just have to be patient. Eventually, you will leave your cage. And I'll be waiting for you on the outside."


End file.
